


go big or go home

by bewarethesmirk



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dildos, M/M, Misunderstandings, Rimming, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 10:43:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17140316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bewarethesmirk/pseuds/bewarethesmirk
Summary: After the end of a long week and with liquid courage to boot, Stiles orders a dildo and ships it to Derek's place.





	go big or go home

**Author's Note:**

> I was writing up to the wire to get this done in time so the porn isn't that fleshed out. But I'd love to return to this. If that's a thing people would be interested in seeing--or perhaps a verse of this--let me know. :)
> 
> Thanks so much to Quirky Chemist for betaing this. All remaining mistakes are my own.

After yet another long week dominated by blood, monster innards, and too many close shaves with death, Stiles can’t sleep. Not that his sleeplessness is new, exactly, ever since the nogitsune. But following weeks like this, with adrenaline coursing through his body and mind overexerted by thinking through the horrific what-ifs, he ends up tossing and turning in his bed. Tomorrow is Thursday, which brings with it a huge calculus exam that Stiles is woefully unprepared for and he has to _somehow_ get some sleep. 

Which leads him to drastic measures.

His dad is working a double shift, so Stiles sneaks down to his dad’s not-so-secret hiding spot in the kitchen and pours himself a generous amount of bourbon. Enough to do its job, but not enough to be noticed, if past experiences are anything to go by. 

Back in his room, Stiles sips the bourbon, grimacing at the taste. He isn’t drinking this because he _likes_ it, but the more he sips, the more numb his body feels. His mind is slower to relax, so he lounges back in his desk chair, checking his email and MLB scores to help wind it down. 

Before long he notices his dick hardening. He grips it over his pajama pants, hips canting up. Never one to deny some self-love, he quickly navigates to the hot porn site he recently found and gets super into the sloppy, eager blowjob on screen. 

He ends up on his bed on all fours, contorting into more difficult and elaborate positions as he works himself up to four fingers. They’re slicked up and as deep in his ass as he can manage, but his wrist is cramping and he can’t get the right angle on his prostate. He desperately wants something bigger splitting him open. He groans, dropping to his bed and moaning in dissatisfied defeat.

He wishes he had something he could use, fuck himself on, so he could get the right feel and angle. Something like a dildo.

Then he realizes that he’s an idiot. Because, yes, a _dildo_. He’s done his fair share of research—because of course he has—and he navigates to the bookmark, dick leaking an extra drop of precome at the sight of the big black dildo, obscenely huge and textured, tapered just right at the end. He needs it.

There’s no way in hell he’s having it sent to the house, but he decides Derek would be none the wiser if Stiles ships it to his place. He often has packages sent there when he uses Derek’s credit card for pack related expenditures. Stiles doesn’t even think Derek looks at his credit card statements with any sort of scrutiny. And, besides, adult stores are supposed to charge your card under something inconspicuous, right?

Stiles buys the dildo, ships it to Derek’s address, and even includes a sarcastic “Merry Christmas” gift message to himself, because after all the fucking mayhem, he deserves it.

He exits out of the browser once the purchase is complete and smiles to himself, falling asleep almost instantly when he returns to bed.

*

Derek never calls Stiles. So when Derek calls right after school on Monday, Stiles fumbles to answer the phone even as he’s driving to the coffee shop just outside of town. He only got a C on last week’s calc exam and was berated within an inch of life by a concerned Lydia, who informed him that he was not C material. He found it unexpectedly sweet. He needs _all_ the coffee to master tonight’s homework.

“Derek? Are you being murdered?”

Derek’s silence and then heavy sigh goes a long way to reassuring Stiles that Derek is A-okay. 

“I’m already dead,” Derek says flatly.

“You’re not funny,” Stiles snaps. Then breathes to calm himself. What? One of his recurring nightmares involves Derek dying. 

Derek sighs again. “Get here. Now.” His voice is different. Deeper, scratchy. Almost threatening, but not? 

Stiles exhales a sigh of his own. Derek is so weird. 

Too bad Stiles is super into weird, apparently.

“Asshole,” Stiles grumbles and hangs up on Derek sniping back at him. He changes the trajectory of his Jeep all the same and heads to the loft.

*

Derek takes his sweet time in answering the door, like he hadn’t just demanded Stiles to come over.

When Derek does finally open the door—and only after Stiles raps on the surface with a police knock that would wake the dead—Derek doesn’t look quite right. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are dilated with only a pinprick of blue around the center. It’s been a long time since Stiles has been afraid of Derek, but now he has to fight the impulse to take a step back. 

“You okay, big guy?” Stiles asks, moving around where Derek is standing menacingly in the doorway and walking into the living room. Where he instantly freezes.

Because there, sitting on the dark wooden coffee table, is a black dildo. It stands out like a sore thumb.

It’s one of those epiphanies that come lightning fast, like in a movie. Stiles remembers all too quickly being drunk, tired and desperate, then ordering the dildo and shipping it to Derek’s, before conveniently forgetting to tell Derek. Apparently, sometimes Derek _does_ open the packages because the whole pack sends things here and maybe it’s hard to know whose order is whose, and _fuck_.

All the blood in Stiles travels to his cheeks in a vibrant blush. “I forgot—” He stops and swallows thickly, mouth dry. Derek is still somewhere behind him, waiting for an explanation. Stiles hears the soft click of the door. “I should have told you—”

Stiles feels the sudden warmth of Derek against his back, bleeding into his clothes and skin. He hadn’t heard Derek’s approach. Stiles stiffens, ready to be mauled or ridiculed or anything else along those lines. He should’ve just mailed the dildo to the house. His dad finding it would have been better than the object of 110% of his fantasies discovering it and laughing at him.

Worse still is when Derek breathes against his neck like some kind of fucking vampire. “How did you know?” 

“I— _what_?”

Because: _what_?

“How did you know?” Derek asks again, even closer at Stiles’ back, one of his large, hot hands settling on Stiles hip. Stiles can’t help it: he groans and jerks backward until he’s flush against the length of Derek’s body. He has no idea what’s happening, but he has no intention of stopping it now. 

“Know what?” Stiles asks. “I’m so confused, man.”

“You got that for me for Christmas,” Derek says, hoarse, fingers tightening on Stiles’ hip, pinpricks of heat that leaves Stiles tingling from his hip to his toes. His dick is incredibly hard. 

Stiles opens his mouth and then closes it.

“That’s the one I’ve been wanting,” Derek admits softly, like he’s telling Stiles a secret. Probably because he _is_ telling Stiles a secret. “Did you have Danny hack my computer?”

Stiles’ mouth falls open again and stays open, because Derek feels hot and hard behind Stiles. 

Stiles is not the only one into this. 

Derek’s _dick_ is hot and hard and Stiles moans. “No,” he pants. “No, I bought the dildo for _me_.”

Derek is quiet a moment. “You want me to use it on you?” His lips brush Stiles’ ear.

 _Fuck_ , misunderstandings galore. “Holy shit,” he says, whipping around and taking in Derek’s face—eyes luminescent blue and fangs fully blossomed. “We can take turns for all I care,” Stiles says, not willing to take time to explain away the miscommunication that’s going in his favor.

Derek groans and grabs Stiles’ face in his hands. He presses his lips hard against Stiles’ and kisses the life out of him, taking him apart with his tongue and teeth and brusquely murmured curses.

It doesn’t take long before Stiles is bent over Derek’s couch with his jeans ripped off of him. His ass is slick from Derek’s genius tongue, and the dildo is sunk in deep. Derek fucks him brutally with it, hitting his prostate as human teeth sink into the base of his neck.

Merry Christmas, indeed.


End file.
